Touch
by crazyhorsegirl3
Summary: Her skin was a curiosity to him, an addicting curiosity. UlquiHime oneshot.


**This came into my head at around midnight, and as soon as I woke up the next day I wrote it. It was stuck in my had for a few days, and took me a couple of days to finish because of school. But here it is. This is my first story in the Bleach fandom, so I'm a little unsure about this, but I wanted to get it up. I hope you enjoy, I had fun writing a pairing like this. I know it's not really in the timeline, but I liked how it turned out. Hope you enjoy!**

disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or any money whatsoever, so don't sue because all you would get would be a pet hamster.

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He discovered not long ago that touching her was a pleasant experience.

It happened when he brought her food in for her as usual. She was asleep on the couch and did not awake even as he opened the door and had the food tray rolled in. He had been given orders to make sure that she ate, so he approached her and outstretched his hand to rouse her. In doing so, he accidentally brushed against the skin on her wrist.

He stopped. That faint touch had been a strange sensation. He had been touched before and had touched others, but they had been Arrancar, and their skin was cold. Hers was warm, a curiosity to him. Going against his better instincts, he brushed the tip of his fingers against her wrist again, and felt a faint spark of wonder at how warm her skin was. But he did not linger on that thought. Instead, he reached out and shook her shoulder (which although covered by a sleeve still emitted some of her warmth) and said, "Eat your food."

Turning around, he left without saying anything else, but unconsciously made a mental note to satisfy his curiosity at her skin.

The next time he saw her, she was awake and he did not touch her, just put her food in and left. The time after that however, she was asleep.

He had only meant to wheel the food in and leave as he had been doing for the past couple of weeks, but the memory of her skin resurfaced, and after considering for half a minute he went to her side, once again letting his fingertips touch her wrist.

Her skin was as warm as it had been the last time he had touched it, and this time he ran his fingers down tracing a vein, letting his curiosity take him over. It wasn't a bad feeling, touching her skin, but after a short time le retracted his hand, not daring to stay long enough to allow her to wake up.

The following times he came in to give her food and she was asleep, he found himself drawn to touch her skin, explore the feeling of it beneath his fingers. Sometimes he would succumb to this desire, sometimes he would ignore it. More and more though, he would give in and spend time letting his fingers run across her skin.

Slowly, he began to want to explore her skin, to see if it was like the skin on her hands and wrist. The outfit she wore covered her arms, but her face was uncovered, and after a day of debating he finally let his fingers glide over her chin and cheek. But once again, his common sense caught up to him and he retracted his hand.

As time went on, he began to explore the rest of her face besides that bit of cheek and chin that he had first touched. He traced her nose, ears, eyelids, lips, all with the same searching curious fingers. As he began to memorize the patterns of her skin he began to make discoveries. He discovered that there was a spot on her cheek that if he stroked, she would sigh in her sleep and turn her head to his hand. He discovered that her lips, although they had the appearance of being soft, were actually chapped.

When she awoke she found a small tube of chap stick that had most certainly not been there when she had fallen asleep.

He soon memorized her face, the creases, the smooth parts, everything. And he took some comfort in knowing that he knew her, perhaps too much comfort, for he began to forget to tough her with only feather light fingers.

And that was why once, when he became careless, she awoke when he was going over her eyelids with heavier fingers than he usually did.

They stared at each other for a minute, maybe more, maybe less. Then he stood abruptly and left, saying nothing to her as he did so.

He vowed to not do such a foolish thing ever again. But there came a time when his fingers ached to feel her skin underneath them, to touch the face that they knew so well. After three days, he finally gave in.

He was more careful this time, and she did not wake up. But one night he once again forgot himself and she opened her eyes. He didn't notice for a time and continued to stroke her face. But when she he did notice he stood and once again left without a word.

The pattern continued. He would come, and touch his fingers to her skin, she would wake up, and he would leave. But there came a time (and he wasn't sure when it started) that he would not leave when she woke up, and nor would she reject his fingers, but instead lie there and allow him to touch her. During these exchanges no words passed between them, and both of them liked it that way, because neither of them had anything to say to each other.

He grew more curious, and wondered unconsciously what her skin tasted like. Without realizing it, he one day raised her hand and touched his lips to her wrist. She grew tense but did not pull away, and he reflected that her skin tasted slightly salty, but had a tang to it that he could not describe.

Then he noticed how tense she was and he let her wrist go.

They continued to do this, although it was rare that he would again raise her wrist and gently run his lips up and down the skin there. He discovered that he could feel her pulse, and sometimes put his ear to her wrist and listened to the blood being pumped through her veins. It became a strangely comforting sound to his ears, although he did not consciously recognize it.

She grew curious as well, and surprised him one night when she raised her hand and gently began to pass her fingers and palm over his face, memorizing it, just as he had done to her, He allowed it, although the sensation of her hand on his face was a strange (though not unpleasant) one.

They both knew that what they were doing could not last.

She was a human, and he was an Arrancar. They belonged in different worlds, and she was being kept prisoner.

He knew that they would come and rescue her. It was inevitable.

On the day before he knew her rescuers would finally prevail over his masters and finally come for her, he visited her again, and touched her skin, and allowed her to touch him in return. An idea popped into his head, and to his annoyance he could not get it out. So he acted upon it. He gently brushed his lips against hers.

He found that her lips were chapped.

She must have run out of chap stick.

When he broke away from her, he spoke the first words he had to her since all this had started. "They'll be here tomorrow."

With that he left, not allowing himself to look and see her reaction to his kiss.

The next day she was gone.

The Shinigami came, and won. Aizen was defeated, and most of the Arrancar went down with him. Only Ulquiorra, Grimmjaw, and Habiel escaped by the skin of their teeth, leaving for the deepest reaches of Hueco mundo.

He knew he would never see her again. But at the same time, he knew that there was a small part of him that yeaned to touch her again, feel her skin beneath his fingers, if only just once more.

It was this part that made sure he never touched anyone, nor allowed himself to be touched, because fingers on him besides her own felt unnatural.

It was this part that he tried in vain to ignore, because he knew that he would never see her again, never be able to touch her face again, never taste her skin again, never feel her chapped lips against his own.

Never.

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**Yay, finally my muse returns! por favor, press that liitle purple button and make my day!**

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